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“Ah. That’s not what I meant but I like how you think. Prime rib. And…” I leave it hang for a moment, before answering, “we’ve got baked potatoes and a bunch of toppings. Know why?”
She says nothing, keeps her eyes focused on her hands.
“Look at me, Chloe.”
Her eyes come up slowly.
“Because we both know you like your baked potato loaded, don’t you?” I chuckle. “Sour cream. Butter. Cheese. Bacon. Chives. You want flavor, baby, so I told the chef to season the potato before she baked it, too.”
She sighs and squeezes her eyes shut tight.
And it hits me that I’m going to eventually learn things about her that don’t come from me overhearing them, that don’t come from watching her live her life without me right there to witness it in person. I’m going to learn things about this girl firsthand. Soon. And I look forward to it.
“Check your bank account?” I ask.
She frowns.
“I dropped the hundred k for you this morning.”
She shakes her head. “Why would you do that?”
“I told you. It’s your bonus.”
“What, like I’m your whore or something?”
I sit beside her and take her face into both hands. “Don’t call yourself that unless you’re saying it with confidence. That you’re my whore because it turns you on to say it. Not to say it like it’s a distasteful thing.”
“I’m nobody’s whore,” she whispers. “I don’t want your money.”
“You’re someone who deserves to not worry about money. I can tell you’re conscientious and non-materialistic by how you live your life, by how you spend your money. Not to mention the fact you gave that ten thousand dollars to him. So I gave you more.”
I’m interested to see what she does with it. I can see she doesn’t carry a balance on her credit card. She pays her bills on time. She’s got a good credit score. She also didn’t have much after she put nearly everything toward her house down payment and she’s been living lean while trying to save twenty per cent of each pay.
“Why does he send you less than half the grocery money?” I ask.
She frowns. “Pardon?”
“You and Hallman split bills down the middle. You put the grocery receipt on the side of the fridge yesterday and then this morning, he sent you half, but he shorted you by fifteen bucks from his half. Why?”
“He probably didn’t reimburse me for my tampons. I underlined them so he’d know they were just mine.”
I frown. “That’s bullshit.”
“Why do you care?”
“I can’t wrap my head around how he isn’t taking care of you.”
“I don’t need him to take care of me.”
“You don’t. Because from now on, I’m taking care of you.”
The alarmed look mixed with confusion makes me realize I’m showing my hand too soon.
“I can take care of myself,” she says softly, looking perplexed.
“And you’ve done that for far too long,” I reply.
“I don’t want your money. I’m returning it.”
